The 45th Hunger Games
by ioanna.hearts.you
Summary: The 45th Hunger Games, narrated by several characters, to explore what happens behind the scenes of the Hunger Games! How do mentors feel? What do sponsors think? How much does a Gamemaker have to understand about Panem? What alliances form? And can Ava, the tribute from District Eleven, hold a heartbreaking promise to her best friend's twelve-year-old brother?
1. Chapter 1: Ava 1

**So thank you for coming here to read this! It's not my first fanfic but it's the first one I'm publishing. It's all really just to pass my time, and I appreciate suggestions as to how the Games should continue. And of course I'm also accepting pleas as to who should win them, because that's also yet to be decided.**

**I can't promise much about how often I'll update and so on, but I've got the first few chapters ready to go and plenty to write for the next ones. I've just been so curios about what happens behind the scenes of the Hunger Games, so I decided to make it up.**

**Oh, I'm also looking for a beta!**

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**Ava**

"You're lucky," I tell my best friend Brooke. She turned nineteen in the spring. "Your name isn't in there a single time. You made it." Though not everybody sees it that way, I believe that it is a strange and lucky accomplishment to have passed out of your childhood years and never have to worry about being reaped again.

"Don't worry, Ava. You're almost out too. After this year, only one more to go."

"Yes, but my name is in more times than I dare count! I don't have a good feeling about this," I say as I go into the space separated for girls seventeen years old. She comes next to me on the other side of the rope and squeezes my hand.

I don't pay any attention to the speech about Panem's past, or to Eda, the woman from the Capitol who will escort our tributes to the Hunger Games once again, and suddenly it's time for the reaping. "Ladies first!" she says with a bright smile.

"Don't you worry," Brooke says again and squeezes my hand. I'm grateful that she's there, even though I know she's standing with me because of all our friends, I have the most chances of getting picked. I hear Eda saying something, but I don't want to hear the name of the girl who will leave us, and – as is customary for District 11 – never return, so I look at Brooke very hardly, noticing every part of her familiar face once again. That way, I don't miss the sudden horror that crosses it, and the immediate tremble of her lips.

_So it's one of our friends_, I think to myself, my heart heavy.

But then Brooke releases my hand, and the girl on my other side nudges me forward.

"Ava Pregot?" I hear Eda call out again.

And then I understand.

It's me.

I move up the stairs to the platform in front of the justice building with lead flowing through my legs instead of blood. I can barely breathe. _Don't cry_, I tell myself. _Not in front of your friends. Not in front of your family._ Then I think of one more thing. _Don't cry in front of all of Panem who are watching. Don't cry in front of the people you will need to ally yourself with to win._ Because win I must.

"And now, to the boys!" Eda announces, giving me a smile. She moves around her hand. "Harel Zabs!" she calls out, and I hear Brooke give a small cry. I look at her, seeing that her face is already wet. She has the luxury to cry over my reaping. But now she's positively ready to faint. I wonder whose name Eda called out. I wasn't listening.

Then I see the boy coming up the steps. I recognize him. It's Harel. It's Harel, Brooke's thirteen-year-old brother. Eda tells us to shake hands and I do so in a daze, looking at Brooke the whole time. Our other friends have escaped from their roped-off areas and are all holding on to her. She's keeling, ready to faint. I feel worse for her than I do for myself.

They take us into the Justice Building, where we have some time to say goodbye to our loved ones. My parents are the first ones through the door, but I don't want to see them. It makes me too sad. But I know I won't have another chance to see them, so I let myself cry a bit as I'm buried in my dad's shirt. I wipe the tears away quickly. I know I can't win, but I don't want to completely spoil my chances before I even leave District Eleven.

They are asked to leave, and Brooke comes in next. Our other friends want to follow, but she asks them to wait. I stand up from where I was sitting on the couch, hugging my father. "Please Ava," she says. "I wish I could go instead of you. I really wish I could! But we both got the worse end for ourselves it seems. Please Ava, you have to… I don't know, but you…" her words break up in sobs.

"Brooke, what do you want me to do? To ally myself with him, well alright, but what then?" my voice is shaking, not from weakness but from pain for my friend.

"Save him. Somehow, save him," she continues sobbing.

I'm losing patience. I know that it's heartless, but I know I have to think like a victor if I want to manage to survive. "There's nothing I can do. I can try and keep him alive for as long as possible, but that will probably result in both of us dead that much earlier."

"I'm begging you!"

"To do _what?_" I finally snap.

"To keep him alive, until the very end."

"Even if I keep him alive, until the very end, what then? There can only be one victor."

"And you really think you can win?" she looks at me, her eyes hard.

"No way. But it's useless to try and tell me things like that, to ask something like that of me!" I throw my hands up in exasperation.

"Can't you try?"

"Please, it's no use," I suddenly break down. I'm trying to keep calm, think like a victor, believe that I can win and let nothing stand in my way, but this is my best friend, who's losing her brother and me with one stroke. I know she has no choice but to ask this of me, but she should also have known better.

Now she's hugging me, comforting me. My tears, seldom spilled, always move her. "It's okay. Forgive me, but I had to ask. I understand. Just… try to make it easy for him. His death I mean. Don't let him starve or anything like that."

I know what this promise I'm about to give means. I know all it's implications and everything that I'll suffer from it. "I promise."

With that, Brooke hugs me once more, then she pushes back my shoulders with her hands. "Come," she says. "Stand tall. You're a pretty girl, and you're not stupid. Think like a victor. Don't let anything stand in your way. Don't forget, you have a mission. Two missions, to be exact. Make us proud."

She lifts my chin and I keep it up. She wipes my tears and I cry no more. She gives me a stern look and I return it. I am a tribute. I will be a victor.

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**So, thanks for reading and so on, I love reviews, especially if you have ideas about how all this could continue!**

**Kisses! Jo**


	2. Chapter 2: Katsa 1

**Katsa**

I make it up onto the stage just on time for the mayor's speech in honor of the Hunger Games.

I tune out the film about the history of Panem, the uprising, and the creation of the Hunger Games.

I cringe as Trixie moves up to the bowl with the girls' names. "Happy Hunger Games!" she says. "And may the odds be ever in your favor." I want to hit her as she moves her hand around and around in the names. Finally, she pulls one out. "Willow Ohson!" she calls. I close my eyes for a few seconds. When I open them again, I see that a tall girl is moving out of the area roped off for the seventeen-year-olds. I study her. She's tall and fairly thin, with the usual light brown hair of District Nine and the sun-darkened skin. I notice that her eyes are glistening, she's clearly close to tears.

I'm breathing heavily as I notice that her eyes are beautiful. They're mostly light brown like her hair, but there are bright amber spots which shine like small suns. I'm biting the inside of my cheek, and I taste blood.

Already, Trixie is calling the boy tribute. "Bard Drow!" Again I can't bear to look. But I know I have to, so I open my eyes again. The boy comes out of the area for the sixteen-year-olds. As they stand next to each other in front of us, I can see that he's tall as well, maybe five centimeters shorter than the girl. _The girl_, I think again, to reinforce the thought in my head. I'm afraid to think of her name. I don't want to think of the boy's either.

They are taken inside and I stand up quickly to go back to Victor's Village. My home is the only one occupied, and though both of the kids – no, both of the tributes – seem fairly well-built, I don't allow myself to hope that I'll have a neighbor and a partner after this year. I stopped allowing myself to hope two years ago.

It had been the first year as a mentor – the forty-third annual Hunger Games. I had just moved into Victor's Village, I had cried from happiness on parcel day, and I did not have too many nightmares about my games. I knew that I had won more by luck than skill or victor mentality. That mentality came later. In my first year as a mentor, I was eager to help the next tributes from District Nine. I still don't know what had come over me those days leading up to my first Hunger Games as a mentor, but I believed that I could do well. I was level-headed enough to know for sure that one of the tributes was going to die, but I had hope that I could get the other one out. Today, I can't even bear to think their names. And I have never let myself put hope into the Games again.

I barely have time to change before I have to go to the train station, but I manage to get in at the edge of the platform and avoid most cameras. I hate them. I make my way through the cars and get to the dining car, where Trixie knows to bring the tributes at once.

I wait a good half hour, but they finally come, and the train takes off as they sit down. "So," I say, keeping my face and my voice emotionless. "Willow and Bard." _Don't hope, Katsa, don't hope_, I desperately tell myself. I don't speak another word, I just turn around and look at the screen, where the other reapings are played. Despite my decision to stop hoping for the tributes of District Nine, I don't want to be utterly useless. That would drive me even crazier. So I watch carefully.

The tributes from Districts One and Two are volunteers. Crimson and Dexter from One, Larya and Alan from Two. All four of them well-built, all over one meter seventy-five for sure except for the girl from Two. The only one who does not show utter self-assurance is the boy from Two. Immediately, I know the girl knows it too. I write the boy off.

The tributes from Three are far less threatening. The girl, Electra, is well-fed but small, and seems unfocused. The boy Henry is only thirteen and is both small and thin. I know that the tributes from Nine can take them if need be.

I assess the tributes from Four. The boy Tyrek is a volunteer 18 years old, and will certainly join the Career pack. He's fairly tall, muscular, and probably trained to fight. The girl is smaller, and even though I believe that she's intelligent, she's terrified when her name is picked out of the bowl.

I turn around to glance at Willow and Bard. _No Katsa! They are the tributes from Nine, that is all_, I remind myself. But I do look at them. They are both afraid. Fearful little children at least don't give me a lot of hope.

I only see the kids from Five for a minute, but they're both young, the girl 14 and the boy only 12. The girl from Six is 13, but the boy is 18 and very big. Somehow he seems slow though, and I doubt the skill he will have in fighting. I make a note to myself to tell the tributes from Nine as much.

Jane and Tim from Seven are 15 and 14, but they're both tall and don't look too weak. The girl from Eight is young, and the boy is 17 but small-built. Then the reaping in District Nine is shown. I'm happy that I'm not on camera, but that turns to the least of my worries when I see how obviously Willow is on the verge of tears and even with my head shaking at her I see Bard's hands trembling. Despite my efforts, I feel a bit of hope slipping away from me. That means I had some in the first place.

The tributes from Ten are both 13, but especially the boy is enormous, and I can see that they've both been well-fed. At least they are as shaken as dumb animals going up. They certainly won't be easy pickings, but I know I can tell the tributes from Nine to avoid having anything to do with them until others take them out.

The girl tribute from Eleven, Ava, stumbles toward the steps after those standing next to her push her, and she clearly recognizes the scrawny boy that's picked after her. I hope that she'll try to protect him. It will make her a much easier target.

The girl from Twelve is stunningly beautiful, and I'm immediately angry at the sponsors that will get her. She's tall and lean, with shiny black hair and olive-green eyes that barely blink as she gets up on the stage. The boy is tiny, only 12 years old. I feel sorry for him, but he does not worry me.

"Alright," I saw, turning around to face the tributes from Nine. "I suppose you know who I am – your mentor. I will try and help you win. But please don't expect me to waste my time. Do you want to win?" she asked them, and looked at them carefully. "Think about it. Some people don't want to. Some people win and wish they hadn't. If you don't want to win, then we'll arrange some easy passing for you that will make you look good, and won't make your families cringe at home. It's not that bad if you consider the alternative, and I've managed as much before. So… Do. You. Want. To. Win?"

I knew that I wouldn't abandon them if they said no, but it was an important decision that the tributes had to take. They had to resolve to win if they were going to.

"Yes. I want to win," Willow said, her voice firm. I nodded in approval.

"I want to win as well," Bard said.

I pursed my lips. "You can't 'win as well.' Don't you know the Hunger Games? One person wins."

That shocked them both, but after a moment, Bard said. "I want to win." His voice wasn't as steady as the first time, but he understood what he said. Good.

As the food was brought in, Trixie came and sat with them. She opened her mouth to begin chatting, but Katsa silenced her with a look she had perfected the year before. Lucky or not, Katsa was a victor and Trixie was a tiny Capitol girl.

"What are your assets?" she asked them. When neither spoke, she looked at Willow, motioning her to speak first.

"I… I guess I'm not bad at finding food? I can gather, like we do at home… And I'm strong, though I don't know how to fight…" she was sending sidelong glances at Bard, but I chose to ignore them.

"And you?" I asked him.

"Well I'm… strong, and…. You know, I'd really rather not tell her," he said with finality, looking at Willow.

"Hey, you heard about mine," she complained.

I felt my blood boil. "Shut up. You're working together."

"But…" Bard began saying.

I cut him off. "There are close to no chances you'll get other allies. You will work together. If you're the last two left, turn on each other, I don't care, but until then, you better stick together."

"But–" Willow starts.

"Do you want to win?" I ask her again.

"Yes!" she says, sounding insulted. Good. She will need spirit.

"Then _watch. Listen. Learn,_" I moved closer to her with every word. Then I lean back. "So, what did you learn about the tributes this year from the reapings?" I ask them.

Now the two look at each other. They're learning to look to each other for support. "Well," Willow says, "The boy from two is big."

"Excellent. From everything you could have picked up about your twenty-two adversaries is that one of them is big." I stand up and head to the door. The two of them are hopeless.

"Wait!" Bard yells. "You can't leave! You're supposed to mentor us!"

I look at him, carefully keeping my face blank. I only want to speak the facts. "There's no point."

"Yes," Willow says. "There is. We could… One of us could… live."

"You're not trying to."

"I'm sorry. We will. We'll watch the reapings again. We'll learn from them everything we can about the other tributes."

"Watch the reapings again? Did you miss them before?" I raise my eyebrows and mock her slightly. "Stop wasting my time. You won't ever get second chances from now on. Do you understand?"

Bard nodded. "Yes, okay. But… I can tell you more about the others."

I sit down again. "Let's hear it then."

"The tributes from One and Two are all Careers, but the boy from Two, the big one, didn't seem that sure of himself. The tributes from Three were smaller," he added then.

I bit my lip and sighed. "That was good, about the boy from Two. He might even be excluded from the Career pack because of that. Do you have anything else to tell me?"

"No. I… I stopped paying attention after that."

I stare at him coldly. "Let's see where that would leave you in the arena. So you manage to take out the boy from Two. Both tributes from Three, if you're lucky. That leaves twenty other tributes whom you have no chance against. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

"I also noticed! District Four. The girl is big, but she's only fourteen. She'll probably be scared. The boy is tiny, and only twelve. If they work together, they'll both be easy targets. From District Seven, they're both about my size, but they're also young, I think both are fourteen. They can't be too big threats. From Ten, both are thirteen, and the boy from Eleven too. The boy from Twelve is only twelve years old," Willow said.

"I'm not unimpressed. You've noted all the people you'll have no problem against. That's good, but only if you've decided to go out and hunt them. That could be a strategy. Hunt down and kill all the ones you can. You'll look good, you'll get sponsors," I nodded in approval. "However, the ones who _will _give you problems won't go away because you ignore them. If you do that, they'll just kill you faster."

She nodded. "Got it. So you'd say that I should learn to fight and kill all the ones I can?"

"Don't hunt. Leave the easy pickings to the Careers, because no matter what, you'll get hurt fighting. If you stumble across anyone kill them or you'll look weak and lose sponsors, but don't hunt for them. The more of them you face, the bigger the chances that one of them will overpower you." I realize that I'm really advising them. I hope it's not stupid of me to try, even though the rational part of me knows that it will just end with me getting hurt. But I can't help myself. I have begun to hope.


End file.
